Remarkably quiet bonfire night tonight, not the usual Beirut neighbourhood we have come to expect here abouts but I always cheerfully recall those days of childhood long past reciting the poem about Guy Fawkes in the school classroom and the pain that then ensued.
It went something like this.
"Alright everybody altogether now after three:
One - Two - Three . . . .
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, Treacle and Plop. . .
Yes Miss . .
What was that?
What did you say?
Come here Buckshot . . .
Bend over touch your toes. ."
Ahh those Halcyon days..